HE  WOLVES 
of  THE  SEA 

AND       O  T  H  E  R       POEM  S 


HERBERT   BASHFORD 


LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
Class 


The  Wolves  of  the  Sea 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 


HERBERT   BASHFORD 


Author  of "  SONGS  FROM  PUGET  SEA,"  "NATURE  STORIES  OF  THE 
NORTHWEST,"  etc. 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

THE  WHITAKER  &  RAY   COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 
1901 


COPYRIGHT,  1901 

BY 
HERBERT   BASHFORD. 


TO  MY  WIFE. 


NOTE. 


Several  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  little 
volume  I  have  used  with  the  kind  permission  of 
"Frank  Leslie's  Monthly,"  "  Ainslee's  Maga 
zine,"  "National  Magazine,"  and  the  San  Fran 
cisco  "  Examiner." 

H.  B. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

THE  WOLVES  OF  THE  SEA 9 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  FOREST  RANGER 11 

THE  VOICE  OF  CONQUEST        14 

THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY        16 

WHY  SANTA  GLAUS  FORGOT       . 25 

THE  RUSSET-BACKED  THRUSH 29 

CHILDREN 30 

THE  SUICIDE 31 

THE  DERELICT       33 

COPALIS 36 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  FERNDALE 40 

MT.  RAINIER 45 

To  THE  MOON        46 

LONGING 47 

EVENTIDE 48 

THE  OREGON  RUFFED  GROUSE 49 

NIGHT       50 

THE  PASSING  OF  AUTUMN 51 

ON  NEWBRASKY'S  FERTILE  SHORE        52 

THE  DERNDEST  GAL  I  EVER  KNOWED 58 

SENCE  MY  MARY  WENT  AWAY  61 


The  Wolves  of  the  Sea. 


From  dusk  until  dawn  they  are  hurrying  on, 

Unfettered  and  fearless  they  flee ; 
From  morn  until  eve  they  plunder  and  thieve — 

The  hungry,  white  wolves  of  the  Sea  I 

With  never  a  rest,  they  race  to  the  west, 

To  the  Orient's  riin  do  they  run ; 
By  the  berg  and  the  floe  of  the  northland  they 

g° 
And  away  to  the  isles  of  the  sun. 

They  wail  at  the  moon  from  the  desolate  dune 
Till  the  air  has  grown  dank  with  their  breath  ; 

They  snarl  at  the  stars   from  the   treacherous 

bars 
Of  the  coasts  that  are  haunted  by  Death. 


io  THE  WOLVES  OF  THE  SEA. 

They  grapple  and  bite  in  a  keen,  mad  delight 
As  they  feed  on  the  bosom  of  Grief ; 

And  one  steals  away  to  a  cave  with  his  prey, 
And  one  to  the  rocks  of  the  reef. 

With  the   froth  on  their  lips  they    follow  the 

ships, 

Each  striving  to  lead  in  the  chase ; 
Since  loosed  by  the  hand  of  the  King  of  their 

band 
They  have  known  bnt  the  rush  of  the  race. 

They  are  shaggy  and  old,  yet  as  mighty  and 
bold 

As  when  God's  freshest  gale  set  them  free ; 
Not  a  sail  is  unfurled  in  a  port  of  the  world 

But  is  prey  for  the  wolves  of  the  Sea  ! 


The  Song  of  the  Forest  Ranger, 


Oh,  to  feel  the  fresh  breeze  blowing 
From  lone  ridges  yet  untrod  ! 

Oh,  to  see  the  far  peak  growing 
Whiter  as  it  climbs  to  God ! 

Where  the  silver  streamlet  rushes 
I  would  follow — follow  on 

Till  I  heard  the  happy  thrushes 
Piping  lyrics  to  the  dawn. 

I  would  hear  the  wild  rejoicing 
Of  the  wind-blown  cedar  tree, 

Hear  the  sturdy  hemlock  voicing 
Ancient  epics  of  the  sea. 


12  THE  SONG  OF  THE  FOREST  RANGER. 

Forest  aisles  would  I  be  winding, 
Out  beyond  the  gates  of  Care  ; 

And,  in  dim  cathedrals,  finding 
Silence  at  the  shrine  of  Prayer. 

When  the  mystic  night  comes  stealing 
Through  my  vast,  green  room  afar, 

Never  king  had  richer  ceiling — 
Bended  bough  and  yellow  star ! 

Ah,  to  list  the  sacred  preaching 

Of  the  forest's  faithful  fir, 
With  his  strong  arms  upward  reaching- 

Mighty,  trustful  worshipper ! 

Come  and  learn  the  joy  of  living! 

Come  and  you  will  understand 
How  the  sun  his  gold  is  giving 

With  a  great,  impartial  hand ! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  FOREST  RANGER.  13 

How  the  patient  pine  is  climbing, 

Year  by  year  to  gain  the  sky ; 
How  the  rill  makes  sweetest  rhyming, 

Where  the  deepest  shadows  lie. 

I  am  nearer  the  great  Giver, 

Where  His  handiwork  is  crude ; 

Friend  am  I  of  peak  and  river, 
Comrade  of  old  Solitude. 

Not  for  me  the  city's  riot ! 

Not  for  me  the  towers  of  Trade  ! 
I  would  seek  the  house  of  Quiet, 

That  the  Master  Workman  made  ! 


The  Voice  of  Conquest. 


I  hew  my  pathway  with  the  Sword ! 

Slay  Peace  and  say  I  throttled  Crime ! 
Ring  round  with  flame  the  Savage  Horde 

Weave  crimson  in  the  robe  of  Time ! 

With  sabre  stroke  and  thrust  of  lance 
I  shake  the  regions  of  Content, 

And  teach  the  hosts  of  Ignorance 
The  sweetness  of  Enlightenment! 

I  search  for  gold  and  gleaming  gem, 
Seize  fairest  islands  of  the  sea, 

Find  simple  folk  and  fling  to  them 
From  cannon  mouth — Humanity  ! 

14 


THE  VOICE  OF  CONQUEST.  15 

I  seek  the  realm  where  dullards  dwell, 
I  make  each  brutish  weakling  feel 

The  good  there  is  in  shriek  of  shell, 

The  blessings  wrought  by  Fire  and  Steel. 

What  matter  if  Death's  pride  be  War, 
Or  Weakness  be  the  slave  of  Might ; 

Is  Progress  not  a  conqueror, 

And  Power  another  name  for  Right  ? 

What  matter  if  I  crush  the  free, 

Or  if  ten  million  men  be  slain  ; 
Am  I  not  lord  of  Destiny, 

The  Anglo-Saxon  god  of  Gain  ? 


The  Fisherman's  Story, 


I  knew  he  was  morose  that  day 
Because  he  did  not  speak  to  me, 

But  now  I  know  he  was  away 
Upon  the  hills  of  Italy. 

He  showed  me  once  long  months  before 
The  picture  of  a  dark-eyed  girl 

Within  a  locket  that  he  wore — 
A  little  keepsake  wrought  of  pearl. 

His  life  had  known  no  counter  gale, 
He  had  the  aid  of  wind  and  tide, 

And  dreamed  that  soon  a  snowy  sail 
Should  bear  him  to  his  future  bride. 

16 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY.  17 

'Twas  but  a  letter — nothing  much — 

A  scrap  of  paper  sent  to  him, 
Yet  something  he  did  clutch  and  clutch 

The  while  his  dusky  eyes  grew  dim. 

And  oh,  how  eagerly  he  scanned 

Each  syllable  that  formed  her  name  ! 

He  crushed  the  letter  in  his  hand 
And  fed  it  to  the  driftwood  flame. 


As  in  a  dream  he  sat  and  stared 

At  night's  black  pall  around  us  flung  ; 

I  would  have  spoken  if  I'd  dared, 
But  Silence  had  a  gentler  tongue. 

He  did  not  curse  as  men  will  do, 
Of  grief  he  gave  no  outward  sign  ; 

That  bitter  draught  of  myrrh  and  rue 
He  drank  as  though  it  had  been  wine. 


i8  THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY. 

With  joyless  heart  he  crooned  a  song 
Of  love  and  hope,  as  day  by  day 

We  hauled  our  heavy  seine  along 
The  pebbled  beaches  of  the  bay. 

At  last— ah  Christ,  I'll  not  forget ! 

I  never  saw  the  like  before  ! 
An  empty  boat — we,  chilled  and  wet, 

And  ten  leagues  from  our  cabin  door ! 

Ten  weary  leagues — a  stormy  row ! 

But  fishermen  know  naught  of  fear ; 
Had  we  ere  this  not  faced  the  snow 

When  winter  nights  were  dark  and  drear  ? 


Had  we  not  braved  the  Storm-king's  glee 

When  winds  were  shrill  and  waves  were  high, 

Been  battered  b}^  a  raging  sea 
And  swung  below  a  ragged  sky  ? 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY.  19 

"  Oho  !     Cheer  up  !     Cheer  up  ! ''  I  cried, 
u  We've  dared  the  seas  before,  my  mate, 

What  matter  if  ill  luck  betide  ?— 

Why,  we  were  born  to  laugh  at  fate  !  " 

He  grasped  his  oar  with  one  long  sigh, 

Nor  spoke  he  any  word  to  me ; 
And  so  together,  he  and  I, 

Put  out  upon  the  angry  sea. 

And  side  by  side,  with  steady  stroke, 
We  fought  against  the  veering  flaw ; 

In  flakes  of  froth  the  billows  broke — 
The  wildest  wolves  I  ever  saw ! 

Ah,  how  the  cutting  north  wind  blew, 
And  in  our  faces  dashed  the  spray ! 

The  sullen  twilight  round  us  grew, 
The  green  shore  faded  into  gray. 


20  THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY. 

"  Cheer  up  !     Cheer  up  !     A  merry  row 
We'll  have  ere  dawn  of  day  !  "  laughed  I ; 

"  And  what  care  we  how  winds  may  blow  ?  " 
The  Sea's  voice  only  made  reply. 

A  silent  man  he  left  the  shore, 

Nor  yet  a  single  word  had  said  ; 
A  silent  man  he  dipped  his  oar 

As  though  it  were  a  thing  of  lead. 

The  night  came  down  and  still  we  toiled, 
The  tumult  fiercer  grew,  and  now 

The  swirling  tide-rip  foamed  and  boiled, 
And  ghostly  seas  swept  o'er  the  prow. 

The  air  was  filled  with  flying  spume, 
Cloud-galleons  sailed  down  the  sky, 

Strange  forms  groped  toward  us  in  the  gloom, 
Pale  phantoms  glided  swiftly  by. 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY  21 

Afar,  at  times,  a  lonely  loon 

Sent  quavering  laughter  through  the  night, 
While  from  a  filmy  sheath  the  moon 

Drew  forth  a  sabre,  keen  and  bright. 

Oh,  it  was  weird  ! — the  seabird's  screech, 

The  distant  buoy's  warning  bell, 
The  white  palms  lifting  high  to  reach 

A  loosened  star  that  downward  fell ! 


Within  my  breast  each  moment  grew 
A  fear  of  more  than  wind-blown  sea  ; 

And  lo  !  that  mute  man,  laughing,  threw 
Aside  his  oar  and  leered  at  me. 


That  moonlit  face  !     It  haunts  me  still ! 

The  eyes  that  spoke  the  maddened  brain 
That  moonlit  face !     It  sent  a  thrill 

Of  terror  through  my  every  vein  ! 


22  THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY. 

"  Aha !     You  thought  me  dead,  you  cur  !  "  — 
His  breath  blew  hot  against  my  cheek  ; 

11  Aha  !     You  coward,  you  lied  to  her !  " — 
I  felt  my  limbs  grow  strangely  weak. 

"  Lorenzo  !     Look  !     The  boat !     The  boat !  "- 
But  how  can  mad  men  understand  ? 

My  God!     He  leaped  to  clutch  my  throat, 
A  wicked  dagger  in  his  hand  ! 

That  lifted  knife !     Ah,  yet  I  feel 

A  horror  of  the  deadly  thing  ! — 
The  long  keen  blade  of  polished  steel 

Against  the  white  stars  quivering. 

I  upward  sprang — I  grasped  somehow 
The  hand  that  held  the  hilt  of  bone ; 

With  panther  strength  he  struggled  now, 
A  demon  I  must  fight — alone  ! 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY.  23 

He  strove  to  slay  and  I  to  save 

His  life  and  mine  if  such  might  be, 

And  in  the  trough  and  on  the  wave 
Like  beasts  we  grappled  savagely. 

To  plead  were  vain ;  I  could  not  hear 
My  voice  above  the  tempest's  breath, 

I  only  knew  my  feet  were  near 
The  awful,  icy  edge  of  Death. 

We  fought  until  the  dark  became 

A  glare  of  crimson  to  my  eyes, 
Until  the  stars  were  snakes  of  flame 

That  writhed  along  the  lurid  skies. 

We  fought  I  know  not  how — to  me 
All  things  of  that  mad  night  appear 

As  vague  as  when  in  dreams  you  see 

The  ghouls  that  haunt  the  coast  of  Fear. 


24  THE  FISHERMAN'S  STORY. 

We  fought — we  fought  and  then — and  then — 
A  leap — a  cry — and  he  was  gone  ! 

And  I  alone  pulled  shoreward  when 

The  East  had  grown  the  flower  of  dawn. 


I  knew  he  was  morose  that  day 
Because  he  did  not  speak  to  me, 

But  now  I  know  he  was  away 
Upon  the  hills  of  Italy. 


Why  Santa  Clans  Forgot. 


A  wind  from  the  south  swept  down  the  bay 
And  pale  with  anger  the  waters  turned 

As  the  ranchman's  wife  looked  far  away 
To  where  the  lights  of  the  city  burned. 

Like  feeble  stars  in  that  Christmas  eve 
Were  the  pulsing  lights  beyond  the  tide  ; 

"  Now  play  with  your  dolly  and  do  not  grieve," 
Said  she  to  the  wee  one  at  her  side. 


"Good  Santa  Clans  will  come  to  you 
This  very  night  if  you  do  not  cry," 

And  she  wiped  a  tear  like  a  drop  of  dew 
From  the  rosy  cheek  and  the  anxious  eye. 

25 


26          WHY  SANTA  CLAUS  FORGOT. 

"  No  sail !  No  sail !  "  and  tlie  sad  wife  pressed 
A  wan  face  close  to  the  window  pane, 

But  naught  she  saw  save  the  sea's  white  breast 
And  the  long  gray  lash  of  the  hissing  rain. 

The  night  fell  black  and  the  wild  gale  played 
In  the  chimney's  throat  a  shrill,  weird  tune, 

While  into  a  cloud  as  if  afraid 

Stole  the  ghostly  form  of  the  groping  moon. 

Then  the  steeds  of  the  sea  all  landward  came, 
Each  panting  courser  thundered  o'er 

The  rocks  of  the  reef  and  died  in  flame 
Along  the  utmost  reach  of  shore. 

Ah,  heavy  the  heart  of  the  ranchman's  wife  ! 

And  long  she  listened,  yet  only  heard 
The  voice  of  the  breakers  in  awful  strife 

And  the  plaintive  cry  of  a  frightened  bird. 


/S        n 


WHY  SANTA  CLAUS  FORGOT.  27 

So  long  she  waited  and  prayed  for  day 
As  the  firelight  flickered  upon  the  floor, 

While  the  prowling  wind  like  a  beast  of  prey 
Did  growl  and  growl  at  the  cabin  door. 

The   gray   dawn    crept    through    the    weeping 
wood, 

The  clouds  set  sail  and  all  was  still ; 
With  a  breast  of  gold  the  fair  morn  stood 

Above  the  firs  of  the  eastern  hill. 

The  waters  slept  and  the  raindrops  clung 
Like  shimmering  pearls  to  the  maple  tree  ; 

The  sky  was  clear  and  the  brown  birds  flung 
Sweet  showers  of  crystal  melody. 

A  splintered  mast  and  a  tattered  sail 

Lay  out  in  the  sun  on  the  hard,  brown  sands 

And  plainer  than  words  they  told  a  tale 

To  the  woman  who  wept  and  wrung  her  hands . 


28  WHY  SANTA  GLAUS  FORGOT. 

And  the  little  girl  with  the  gold-crowned  head 
Looked  up  with  her  tear-wet  eyes  of  blue ; 

"  Oh,  please  don't  cry,  mamma,"  she  said, 
"  Old  Santa  Clans  forgot  me,  too." 


The  Russet-BacKed  Thrush, 


He  dwells  where  pine  and  hemlock  grow, 
A  merry  minstrel  seldom  seen  ; 

The  voice  of  Joy  is  his  I  know — 
Shy  poet  of  the  Evergreen  ! 

In  dawn's  first  holy  hush  I  hear 
His  one  ecstatic,  thrilling  strain, 

So  sweet  and  strong,  so  crystal-clear 
'Twould  tingle  e'en  the  soul  of  Pain. 

At  close  of  day  when  Twilight  dreams 
He  shakes  the  air  beneath  his  tree 

With  such  exquisite  song  it  seems 

That  Passion  breathes  through  Melody. 

Within  his  shadow-world  he  sings 

Away  from  sun  and  light  and  bloom, 
For  he  alone  it  is  that  brings 

Keen  rapture  to  the  heart  of  Gloom. 
29 


Children. 


Sweet  flowers  along  Life's  rugged  slope 
All  little  children  are  to  me — 

White  blooms  upon  the  hills  of  Hope 
That  drink  the  dews  of  Purity. 


The  Suicide. 


A  wild,  weird  night  it  was ;    the  sharp,  curved 
inoon — 

A  shining  sabre  hurled  across  the  sky 
Cut   through   a  beggared  cloud ;    beneath  each 
tree 

Were  shadows  madly  dancing  to  the  high 
Shrill  piping  of  the  wind  and  to  the  beat 

Of  barren  lirnbs  that  ever  writhed  and  swayed 
Above  the  frosty  earth,  above  the  form 

Of  her  who  hastened  onward  undismayed, 
Who  stood  upon  the  cliff's  huge  brow  of  stone, 
With  floating  hair  a  raven  banner  blown ! 


32  THE  SUICIDE. 

Loud  roared  the  sea  below  and  fierce  he  strove 
To  scale  that  crag  and  climbed  and  surged  and 

blew 
From   hoarsely   laughing   lips    great  flakes  of 

foam, 
Then  in  his  awful  strength  reached  up  and 

drew 
Her  close  against  his  breast.     The  deep  caves 

rang; 
The   billows   rose    like    mighty    wings    and 

seemed 
To  fan  the  very  stars  so  brightly  did 

They  burn ;  the  whole,  vast  ocean  shone  and 

gleamed 

With  phosphorescent  light — the  pines  upon 
The   hill   raised  rugged    arms    and  prayed   for 
dawn ! 


THe  Derelict. 


I  am  rolled  and  swung,  I  am  rocked  and  flung, 
I  am  hammered  and  heaved  and  hurled, 

I  am  tossed  and  wheeled,  I  am  blown  and  reeled 
And  battered  about  the  world. 


On  the  pushing  tide  I  ride  and  ride 

Or  loiter  and  loaf  at  ease, 
With  never  a  care,  though  foul  or  fair, 

I  follow  the  foaming  seas. 

Men  come  not  nigh  when  they  pass  me  by 

For  they  fear  me,  everyone, 
As  I  cleave  the  gray  of  the  dawning  day 

Or  drowse  in  the  summer  sun. 

33 


34  THE  DERELICT. 

Past  unknown  isles,  for  miles  and  miles 

I  wander  away  to  where 
The  iceberg  lifts  and  the  salt  spray  drifts 

In  the  freezing  arctic  air. 

I  steal  by  the  bars  when  the  flame-winged  stars 

Have  swarmed  in  the  upper  blue 
And  the  glow  and  shine  of  the  drenching  brine 

Like  white  fire  burns  me  through. 

I  haunt  as  a  ghost  the  rock-girt  coast 
Where  the  bell-buoy  loudly  rings 

And  the  breakers  leap  to  the  mighty  sweep 
Of  the  night-wind's  sable  wings. 

I  shake  and  moan,  I  creak  and  groan, 

In  the  wrathful  tempest  when 
The  old  sea  raves  and  digs  deep  graves 

For  the  jolly  sailor  men. 


THE  DERELICT.  35 


What  matters  time  or  what  the  clime 

To  a  vagrant  of  the  sea  ? 
To  live  or  die,  oh  naught  care  I, 

There  is  no  port  for  me  ! 


Copalis. 


High  above  the  strong  Pacific,  rising  solemnly 
and  lone 

Looms  the  rugged  rock,  Copalis,  like  a  moun 
tain  built  of  stone. 

Break    the    heavy    waves    against    it,  roaring 
through  its  caverns  wide, 

Caverns  worn  by  maddened  waters  and  the  moon- 
enchanted  tide. 

All  around  are  curling  breakers,  sifting  spray 
and  flying  foam, 

Where  the  slim  sea  otter  gambols  and  the  gray 
gull  has  a  home. 

All  around  is  fierce  commotion,  pale  forms  reach 
ing  to  the  skies, 

Sounds  of  awful  cannonading,  haunting  moans 
and  battle  cries. 

36 


COPALIS.  37 

Clinging  to  its  craggy  summit,  fastened  down 

with  massive  chains, 
Bathed  in  Summer's  yellow  sunshine,  drenched 

in  Winter's  driving  rains, 
Rests  a  low,   quaint  hut,  the  dwelling  of  the 

brave  Copalis  Jim — 
Rests  the  hut  whose  door  is    opened — opened 

never  save  by  him. 
From  this  airy  habitation  keen  black  eyes  peer 

on  the  seas, 

Raven  locks  are  tossed  and  tangled  in  the  sigh 
ing  ocean  breeze. 
Night  and  morn  he  scans  the  billows  marching 

grandly  far  below, 
Night  and  morn  he  sees  the  warriors  with  their 

helmets  wrought  of  snow. 
Day  by  day  he  keeps  his   vigil  caring  naught 

for  any  man, 
Watching  ever  with  the  patience  that  the  otter 

hunter  can. 
Oft  his  swarthy  face  grows  eager,  oft  his  rifle 

darts  its  flame 


38  COPALIS. 

And  a  dying  creature  struggles  from  that  quick, 

unerring  aim. 
Oft  when  midnight  winds  are  calling  in  his  mind 

sad  thoughts  arise, 
Thoughts  of  her  who  held  him  captive  by  the 

magic  of  her  eyes. 
In  his  dreams  she  stands  before  him  as  she  stood 

in  days  agone, 
Ere  his  heart  had  grown  more  hardened  than  the 

rock  he  dwells  upon. 
And  he  hears  her   laughter   ringing   like   the 

echoes  of  a  lute 
Through  the  forest,  still  and  sombre,  down  the 

vales  of  Quillayute. 
And  again  he  sits  beside  her  speaking  tender 

words  of  love 
With  the  fragrant  flowers  surrounding  and  the 

waving  green  above. 
But   the  thunder  of  the  breakers  and  the  sea 

bird's  piercing  scream 
From  the  ledges,  brown  and  jagged,  break  the 

vision  of  his  dream. 


COPAUS.  39 

Ah  !  Nawanda,  false  Nawanda,  with  your  artless 

maiden  grace, 
Think  you  never  of  your  lover  living  in  this 

lonely  place  ? 
He,  whose  fondest  hopes  you  shattered,  now  a 

hermit,  mute,  alone, 
Far  away  on  bleak  Copalis,  on  a  mountain  built 

of  stone. 


.    The  WrecR  of  the  Ferndale. 


Hoarse  with  calling,  pale  with  anger, 
From  dim  dawn  till  set  of  sun 

Wind-blown  billows,  crowding  landward, 
Shook  the  shores  of  Washington. 

Stalwart  seas  tramped  down  the  beaches. 
Giant  seas,  each  thunder-toned, 

Lunged  against  the  rugged  headlands 
While  the  mighty  caverns  groaned. 

Roared  along  the  sandy  beaches, 
Foaming,  panting  in  the  race, 

Struck  the  cliff's  opposing  ledges, 
Leaped  to  smite  its  massive  face. 

40 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  FERNDALE. 

Leaped  and  flung  their  white  arms  wildly 
Then,  all  baffled,  backward  fled 

Moaning,  sobbing  on  the  shingle 
Like  a  mother  o'er  her  dead. 


Night  fell  black  upon  the  waters, 

Night  with  no  star  throbbing  through  ; 

Fiercer  yet  the  waters  battled, 
Stronger  still  the  cold  wind  blew. 


Every  pine  upon  the  hilltop 

Cried  in  anguish,  cried  in  vain, 

And  the  ranchman's  wife  peered  seaward 
With  her  face  against  the  pane. 

Heard  the  waves'  loud  cannonading, 
Saw  at  times  a  lifting  light — 

Fiery  soul  of  sky-tossed  breaker 
Burning  through  the  raven  night. 


42  THE  WRECK  OF  THE 


Listened  sadly  at  the  window 

Thinking  of  the  ships  at  sea, 
Of  wrecked  sailors  drifting  helpless, 

And  the  Storm-king's  fiendish  glee. 

Hark  !     What  sonnd  above  the  breakers',?- 

Was  it  bnt  the  sudden  shock 
Of  a  seething  sea  bombarding 

Towering  battlements  of  rock  ? 

Was  it  but  the  crashing  thunder 

Of  a  fir  tree's  rugged  form  ; 
Of  a  fir  tree  that  had  fallen 

As  it  wrestled  with  the  storm  ? 

No,  ah,  no  !     Again  the  gun  spoke 
And  the  ranchman's  wife  grew  pale  ; 

"  God  have  mercy  on  a  vessel 
Driven  shoreward  by  the  gale  !  " 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  FERNDAIvE.  43 

11  God  above  have  mercy  on  them  ! 

He  alone  can  still  the  waves  !  ' 
"  Hear  them  calling  !  "    "  They  will  perish  !  " 

"  How  the  ocean  roars  and  raves  !  " 


Thus  spake  trembling,  care-worn  women, 
Sturdy  ranchmen,  young  and  old, 

As  they  gathered  on  the  North  Beach 
In  the  darkness  and  the  cold. 


All  the  night  their  lanterns  glimmered 
In  the  wild  wind's  icy  breath, 

While  the  surf  grew  thick  with  cordage 
And  the  breakers  talked  of  death. 


All  the  night  they  watched  and  waited 
Where  the  hoary  foam-flakes  flew  ; 

One  by  one  along  the  North  Beach 
Drifted  in  the  Ferndale's  crew. 


44  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  FERNDALE. 

One  by  one  they  drifted  lifeless 
To  the  bleak  Pacific  sands, 

Salt  tears  on  their  pallid  faces, 

Sea-weeds  in  their  hardened  hands. 

Eyes  of  pity  looked  upon  them, 

Looked  upon  them  where  they  lay, 

As  the  morn  came  softly  stealing — 
Saddened  morn  in  robe  of  gray. 

And  above  the  heaving  waters 
In  the  daybreak,  chill  and  grim, 

One  lone  mast  yet  pointed  upward — 
Pointed  upward  unto  Him. 


Mt.  Brainier. 


Like  autuinu  leaves  the  years  may  fall  upon 
His  brow  from  off  the  ancient  tree  of  Time, 
Yet  will  he  tower  above  the  dust  and  grime 
Of  earth  !  The  first  pink  petals  of  the  dawn 
That  bloomed  into  the  flower  of  day  ;  the  wan 
And  hesitating  moon's  first  skyward  climb 
He  viewed  in  silent  majesty  sublime ; 
The  fir  proclaims  him  king,  the  great  seas  fawn 
And  weave  fair  garlands  at  his  feet ;  each  stream 
Salutes    with    flashing    sword;     the  wildest 

storm 
That   beats    against    his    massive    breast   ne'er 

mars 

The  deep  serenity  of  his  white  dream. 
At  night  how  vaguely  grim  his  awful  form, 
High-looming  in  God's  wilderness  of  stars  ! 


45 


To  the  Moon. 


Oh,  ever  changeful  and  enchanting  moon! 

What  mystical  and  varied  forms  are  thine ! 

Tonight  a  peerless  queen  I  see  thee  shine 
In  raiment  from  the  loom  of  Dreams  ;    yet  soon 
When  skies  grow  gray  and  chill  winds  pipe  a 
tune, 

A  ghost  thouTt  grope  beside  the  battle-line 

Of  dark  cloud-legions,  or,  in  anguish,  pine 
Upon  the  heated  highway  of  red  Noon, 
Or,  wan  and  careworn,  long  for  quick  release 

From  weary  journeys  through  the  deeps  of 
night ; 

Then,  calm  as  Sleep,  wilt  thou  appear  to  me, 
Thy  glowing  bosom  soft  and  white  with  peace, 

As  though  to   thee   had  flown  on  wings  of 
light 

The  myriad  souls  of  each  gray  century  ! 

46 


Longing. 


In  city  walls,  where  duty  bids  me  stay 

I    long   for   woodland   paths — sweet   breath  of 

pine, 

To  see  again  the  distant  dazzling  line 
Of  slender,  sandy  shore  ;  I  know  to-day 
How  fair  mnst  lie  the  sea  far,  far  away, 
On  whose  broad  breast  the  sun-wrought  sap 
phires  shine 

And  sparkle  in  the  wind  that  breathes  of  wine ; 
How  shafts  of  gold  and  shifting  shadows  play 
Beneath  cool  groves  that  sing  a  slumber  song, 
And  clear  bird  notes  are  tingling  through  and 

through 

The  peaceful  heart  of  Silence  !     Ah,  I  long 
For  friendly  firs  that  brush  against  the  blue 
And  each  still  night  to  watch  the  warrior  Mars 
Review  the  vast  procession  of  the  stars  ! 

47 


Eventide. 


The  garish  day  is  done,  and  faint  and  far 

Like  jagged  shadows  all  the  mountains  lie — 

White  priests  that  saw  the  red  sun  sink  and 

die; 

Leaf-hidden  birds  where  willow  clusters  are 
Fling  down  sweet  showers  of  melody ;  a  bar 

Of  burnished  gold  from  sunset's  forge  hangs 
high 

Above  the  hills  and  in  the  purple  sky 
Beyond,  the  twilight tgrows  one  yellow  star. 
Along  some  distant  lane  the  cattle  go 

With  bells  that  sound  like  music  heard  in 
dreams 

Of  years  agone ;  the  moon  with  soul  of  light 
Now  crowns  God's  highest  pyramid  of  snow, 
While  from  dim  ponds  and  softly  flowing  streams 

Ring  out  the  rr^rning  minstrels  of  the  night  1 

48 


Tfie  Oregon  Ruffed  Qrcmse. 


A  lover  of  dim  ways  in  woodland  shade 

Is  He,  whose  martial  music,  shakes  the  still 
Cool  air  where  lilies  drowse  and  silver  rill 

Alone  draws  light  adown  the  gloomy  glade; 

Where,  deep  within  the  hnsh,  dank  moss  is  laid 
That  Solitude  may  rove  from  hill  to  hill 
With  soundless   tread,  and  where   no   bird's 
glad  trill 

Ere  breaks  the  iron  silence  God  has  made. 

To  haunt  sequestered  dells  is  his  delight 

Beneath  low-drooping  boughs  that  shadow  all 
The  dreamy  pools ;  and  when,  care-worn,  we 
come 

To  where  the  wilderness  makes  of  the  night 
A  dusky  slave  forever  held  in  thrall, 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  throbbing  of  his  drum  ! 

49 


Night. 


Beloved  Night !  Calm,  soothing  summer  Night ! 
Your  presence  breathes  of  peace ;  your  raven 

hair 

Falls  over  rne  and  tender  as  the  prayer 
Of  kneeling  virgin  in  dawn's  holy  light 
Is  your  carressing  hand  on  Sorrow's  white 
And  trembling  lips,  or  furrowed  face  of  Care. 
Sweet  slumber  nestles   on  your   breast    and 

where 

Your  dark  robe  trails,  in  valley  or  on  height, 
The  petals  of  your  dream-flowers  flutter  down 
To  sleeping  eyes.     I  love  you,  love  you  so, 
Mother  of  mine !    And  when  the  day  is  done 
I  watch  to  see  the  first  gleam  in  your  gown 
Of  lambent  jewels   that  thrill  and  throb  as 

though 

The  pulse  of  God  beat  through  them — every 
one  ! 

5° 


The  Passing  of  Autumn. 


The  glory  of  her  reign  is  o'er  and  old,  forlorn, 
A  faded,  tattered  gown  around  her  drawn 
She  sits  with  drooping  head  and  broods  upon 
The  time  ere  her  rich  robes  were  rudely  torn 
And  cast  aside  ;  a  beggar,  weary,  worn 

Is  she,  whose  garments  like  a  gorgeous  dawn 
Once  lay  along  the  hills  ;  her  pride  is  -gone 
And  naught  is  left  her  but  to  mourn  and  mourn 
Amid  her  ruins.     Oft  there  comes  to  me 

From  out  the  wood  her  low,  despairing  wail 
When  thoughts  of  that  imperial  attire 
Of  other  days  bring  keener  agony, 

When  all  exultant  she  heard  nation's  hail 
The  queen  of  Color  with  her  soul  of  fire. 


On  NewbrasKy*s  Fertile  S&ore. 


Oh,  I  ain  so  orful  huinsick!  An'  I  feel  so  wretched 

queer ! 
Ephrum,  he  has  gone  a  ridin'  on  a  wild  eclectric 

keer, 
Rhody — that's  rny  only  darter — she  has  gone 

an'  left  me,  tew, 
Both  a  trapesin'  'round  like  ijits — wonder  what's 

th'  next  they'll  do  ? 

They  don't  seem  t'  think  they're  darin'  Provi 
dence  right  in  th'  face, 
Ridin'  without  hoss  er  engine  'n'  goin'  at  a  break 

neck  pace. 
Course  I  needn't  stand  here  waitin',  both  insisted 

I  should  come, 
But  I  vow  I'll  not  be  reckless  when  I  am  so  fer 

from  hum. 

52 


ON  NEWBRASKY'S  FERTILE  SHORE.  53 

Clear  out  Here  by  th'  Pacific,  jist  as  fur  as  we 

kin  git 
An'  if  we  stay  here  much,  longer  I  declare  I'll 

hev  a  fit. 

It's  th'  most  deceivin'  kentry  as  ever'  one'll  say 
Ever'  drap  o'  water  salty  in  th'  hull  o'  Frisco 

bay. 
Oh  I've  tramped  these  pesky  sidewalks  till  my 

feet  is  lame  an'  sore, 
An'  a  yearnin'   ever'   minute    fur  Newbrasky's 

fertile  shore  ! 

Then  they  brag  about  their  scenery!  Californy! 
Humph  !  O  dear  ! 

Scenery!  Well,  jest  speaking  plainly,  I  don't 
see  no  scenery  here. 

Nothin'  but  th'  mountain  ranges  rarin'  up  so 
tamal  high 

Thet  a  buddy  kint  look  nowheres  'cept  the  mid 
dle  o'  th'  sky. 

Mount'ins,  everlastin'  mount'ins,  hills  'n'  woods 
'n'  rocks  'n'  snow 


54  ON  NEWBRASKY'S  FERTILE  SHORE. 

Where  th'  scenery  is  they're  braggin'  on  I'm 

th'  one  as  wants  t'  know. 
Let  'em  stand  in  Lincoln  county  jest  aback  our 

cowyard  fence, 
An'  if  they  don't  say  there's  scenery  they  haint 

got  a  mite  o'  sense ; 
Why  yuh  kin  look  fur  miles  around  yuh  an'  see 

nothin'  but  th'  flat 
Level  prairie  in  th'  sunshine  kivered  in  its  grassy 

mat. 
That  is  scenery — yuh  kin  look  there  jest  as  fur 

as  yuh  kin  see 
With  no  hills  a  interposin'  er  no  rocks,  er  airy 

tree, 
Oh,   I've  told  my   husband,   Ephrum,  that  I'd 

gallavant  no  more 
When  ag'in  I'd  sot  my  foot  on  old  Newbrasky's 

fertile  shore. 

Then    I'm   worried   so    'bout    Rhody,  fur  she's 
missin'  ever'  day 


ON  NEWBRASKY'S  FERTILE  SHORE.  55 

All  her  lessons  on  th'  ineloj  un  that  paw  bought 

fur  her  last  May, 
An'  she  could  perform  amazin';  she  could  play 

"  Old  Hundred  "  nice 
An'   another   song  beginin'   "Happy  Day  that 

Fixed  My  Ch'ice." 
Yes,  th'  singin'  teacher  told  me  as  we  parted  at 

th'  keers, 
He  was  shore  she'd  play  th'  organ  in  th'  church 

'fore  many  years. 
Now  her  notion's  highkerflutin',  a  pianner  she 

wants  now 
An'  her  paw  sez  he  will  get  it  soon  as  he  kin 

sell  a  cow, 
Sez  he  kin  dispose  o'  Muly — I  jest  told  him  no 

sir  e-e 
Not  fur  no  new-fangled  nonsense — Muly's  my 

cow,  an'  you  see 
He's  jest  got  a  spite  ag'in  her  'cause  she's  got  a 

lengthy  tail 
An'  in  fightin'  skeeters  sometimes  whisks  it  in 

th'  milkin'  pail. 


56  ON  NEWBRASKY'S  FERTILE  SHORE. 

Oh,  I'll  be  the  gladdest  mortal  when  I  reach  th' 

kitchen  door 
Of  that  dear  old  farmhouse  standin'  on  New- 

brask}^'s  fertile  shore ! 

No,   I  don't  enjoy  th'  city  where  the  wimtnen 

folks  is  dressed 
Monday  an'  clean  through  till  Saturday  all  in 

their  Sunday  best, 
I  jest  like  to  ketch  my  wrapper  up  'n'  pin  it 

'round  my  waist, 
Carin'  not  a   single  copper  if  my  shoe  string 

comes  unlaced. 
Then  go  out  an'  milk  old  Muly  an'  turn  out  th' 

spotted  calf 
While   th'   chickens    giggle   'round  me  an'  th' 

speckled  roosters  laff, 
Then  go  in  th'  summer  kitchen,  set  me  down 

an'  churn  a  spell, 
Till  time  comes  t'  put  th'  victuals  on  an'  ring 

th'  dinner  bell. 


ON  NEWBRASKY'S  FERTILE  SHORE.  57 

Yes  I  love  th'  peaceful  quiet  o'  th'  farm  where 

it's  so  still, 
Nothin'  but  th'    ducks   a   quackin'  'n'  pigs  a 

squealin'  fur  their  swill, 
Nothin'  but  th'  geese  a  clackiu'  'n'  the  bawlin' 

o'  th'  cows, 
An'  th'  nickerin'  o'  th'  hosses  as  they  're  comin' 

t*  th'  house, 
Oh  I  want  t'  leave  th'  city  with  its  racket  an'  its 

roar 
An'  git  back  there  t'  the  silence  o'  Newbrasky's 

fertile  shore! 


Derndest  Gal  I  Rver  Knowed, 


Derndest  gal  I  ever  knowed, 
Neatest  gal  I  ever  seen, 
Lived  down  in  the  Red  Ravine 
Jest  below  the  county  road. 
Guess  she  wuz  about  sixteen — 
Sophy  wuz  her  name  an'  she 
Wuz  ez  cute  ez  cute  kin  be. 

When  I'd  go  t'  town  I  brung 
Her  the  biggest  lot  o'  stuff, 
Pop  corn,  likrish,  'n'  enough 
Candy  fer  t'  fill  a  room. 
Once  she  hit  me  with  a  broom 
Cuz  I  kissed  her  on  the  cheek, 
An'  the  midget  wouldn't  speak 
T'  me  fer,  perhaps,  a  week. 
58 


DERNDEST  GAL  I  EVER  KNOWED.  59 

When  I  'd  raise  iny  eyes  to  Hern 
Jeminny!  my  cheeks  'ud  burn 
An'  git  redder  'n'  a  beet. 
Oh,  she  looked  jest  powerful  sweet! 
When  Pd  try  to  call  her  dear 
Why  I'd  feel  so  doggoned  queer 
That  I'd  lean  ag'in'  th'  fence 
Zif  I  didn'  hev  no  sense 
Twist  th'  buttons  on  my  vest, 
Ast  her  who  she  liked  th'  best, 
Ast  her  if  it  wuzn't  Bill 
Er  old  Jones  thet  run  th'  mill, 
Keep  a  hintin'  'round  yuh  see 
Till  she'd  up  an'  say  'twuz  me. 

I  wuz  jellus  o' Jim  Pike 

Jellus  ez  th'  very  deuce 

Though  there  didn't  seem  much  use 

Per  his  freckles  wuz  so  thick, 

An'  his  hair  wuz  so  like  brick 

Thet  a  feller  one  day  said 

Yuh  could  toast  a  hunk  o'  bread 


60  DERNDEST  GAL  I  EVER  KNOWED. 

Ef  yuh'd  hold  it  nigh  his  head. 
He  wuz  awkarder  'n'  sin, 
Never  fished  along  the  crick 
But  he'd  hev  t'  tumble  in. 

Sophy  'peared  t'  pity  Jirn 

While  I  thought  if  I  wuz  him 

I'd  go  off  'n'  hide  somewhere 

Else  put  plaster  on  my  hair. 

But  this  homely,  lantern-jawed 

Lookin'  cuss  stood  'round  'n'  chawed 

On  a  plug  o'  terbacker 

Half  his  time  'n'  talked  t'  her 

Of  his  love  till  I  jest  told 

Him  t'  mosey  an'  he  rolled 

Up  his  sleeves  'n'  landed  me 

Plumb  betwixt  th'  eyes,  then  he 

Went  to  Sophy  an'  sir,  she 

Married  him !     The  pesky  mule  ! 

Wuzn't  she  a  reg'ler  fool  ? 

I  wuz  jest  tetotally  blowecl — 

Derndest  gal  I  ever  knowed ! 


Sence   M.y  Mary  Went  Away. 


Ah  sir!    You  should  just  have  seen  her, 

Seen  her  long  and  silky  hair 
Shinin'  like  a  shock  o'  sunbeams 

Wavin'  in  the  summer  air  ! 
Then  her  cheeks  seemed  bloomin'  roses, 

An'  her  fingers — don't  yuh  know — 
They  was  white  as  maple  branches 

Wrapped  around  by  winter's  snow. 

Eyes  so  big  an'  blue  an'  honest 

Allus  gazin'  int'  mine, 
An'  a  heart  that  never  faltered 

Whether  rain  or  whether  shine, 
Cheerful  words  for  ev'r'body, 

Smilin'  all  the  livelong  day, 
Do  yuh  wonder  that  I'm  lonely 

Sence  my  Mary  went  away  ? 

61 


62  SENCE  MY  MARY  WENT  AWAY. 

I  remember  how  we  used  to 

On  them  sunny  afternoons 
Stroll  together  down  the  woodland 

Listenin'  t'  th'  merry  tunes 
Played  by  little,  jolly  breezes 

Foolin'  'mong  the  tree  tops  high, 
An'  she  thought  that  river  y under 

Was  a  strip  o'  fallen  sky. 

Course  its  only  my  odd  fancy 

Anyhow  it  strikes  me  so, 
Thet  things  now  haint  half  so  cheery 

As  they  was  a  year  ago. 
The  trees  air  green,  its  mighty  sartin 

But  to  me  they're  allus  gray 
An'  the  birds  seem  sorter  silent 

Sence  my  Mary  went  away. 


SENCE  MY  MARY  WENT  AWAY.  63 

Why  th'  pathway  down  th'  valley 

Where  we  wandered  hand  in  hand 
Is  to-day  a  sorter  gloomy  one 

I  kint  quite  understand, 
Then  the  crick  thet  giggled  softly, 

Shook  itself  V  run  along 
Now  goes  slippin'  past  the  willers 

With  an  orful  solemn  song. 

Them  old  hills,  too — eh  !     Yer  goin'  ? 

Sorry  t'  hev  kept  yuh  here. 
Good  by  !     Strange  th*  air  looks  misty  ! — 

Mebby — why — 'twas  just  a  tear! 
Like  as  not  you  think  me  foolish 

x\n'  don't  keer  for  what  I  say, 
But  I  feel,  oh  God,  so  lonesome 

Sence  my  Mary  went  away ! 


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